Love Thine Enemy (25 page)

He heard Henri snort behind him as if he fought a
laugh, making Becket feel even more the fool.

“You do not prefer the dungeon, my lying falcon. 
Unless you think to charm the guards into releasing you.  They are not as
disciplined as I.  Admit you prefer my chamber.” 
An insane demand. 
Of
course, he wouldn’t be there.  Mayhap he should imprison her in his chamber.

Rochelle’s mouth curved the sweetest of smiles.  “What
you say is true, Sire, but I fear I would bore us both with my shameful pleas
for your attention.  In truth, your constant rejections are quite tiresome. 
Even so, you misunderstand my intentions.”  She again attempted to move aside
so as to catch the obviously amused Henri’s attention, but Becket blocked her
view.

“Whatever your purpose with Henri, ‘tis forbidden.  Do
you hear?  Forbidden.”

She released a sigh of defeat and turned to face a
still stunned Sir John.  “I had hoped to spare you such boldness, Sire, but the
situation demands that I personally request your presence at the keep.”

Sir John dropped to his knees, then grasped her hand
and slobbered on her delicate flesh like some mad dog.  “My lady, whatever you
desire I will most gladly provide. “

Becket roared, then lunged.  “You will not provide!  Do
you hear me?  You will not provide!” 

Surprise crossed Sir John’s face, then horror as he scrambled
to his feet, right before Becket leapt between John and Rochelle, accidentally
slamming John into his horse.  The steed whinnied in protest.

Henri’s snickers turned into rude snorts of obviously
withheld laughter.

Rochelle tilted upward her defiant chin.  “I but seek
to welcome the stranger to DuBois, Sire.  Of course, the welcome won’t be as
spectacular as for the last stranger.  He ended up as lord.  But in this
peculiar age when visitors become masters and the English seek to become
French, I’m certain DuBois can provide a worthwhile diversion for a weary
traveler.”

“You will
not
welcome him.  You will
not
freely offer him a diversion I would almost give all to possess.”

“A bath and sustenance?  You would almost give all for
a bath and sustenance?  I wish I had known sooner, Sire.  I would have been
spared much humiliation.”

Henri, curse his soul, beat the ground with his fists
as tears of laughter washed his cheeks.

Sir John appeared shocked.  “You say you pleaded with
Becket for his attentions, and he rejected you. 
You
?  ‘Tis beyond
belief.  Then, ‘tis not idle rumor about his . . . uh . . . problem.”   He
‘tsk-tsked as he moved from behind Becket, the sound much like a man saddened
by a sudden loss---as in the loss of Becket’s sanity.  Or manhood.  “A bath and
refreshment are both sadly needed, my lady. However, duty is an unfeeling
master and will not allow me the pleasure of basking in your beauty beyond
vespers.”  John had the temerity to lean down as if to whisper in her ear, most
likely for an excuse to nuzzle in her incredible hair.  “My lady, Sire Becket’s
behavior startles me.  He has always shown extreme control, not these surly
outbursts.”

“I have known him no other way, Sire.  Mayhap ‘tis
the---“

“Rochelle---“

“---strain.”  Rochelle smiled up at John as if Becket
weren’t staring daggers at her.  “Custom dictates that the woman who tends your
bath be both the chatelaine and not a maiden, so I hope to rectify that dilemma
by---“

“You will not rectify, blast you!”  Becket grasped her
shoulder.  The silk slithered from her alabaster shoulder and grasped his
fingers, urging them to rip the fabric from her body and making her his, right
there in the middle of the road. He jerked his hand away and curled his fingers
into his palm.  “You will not rectify your status.”

With evocative movement, she repositioned the fabric. 
“I but suggest Lady Angelique, my lord.”

“Lady Angelique.”

“
Oui
, Sire.”

“So you say.  And what do you intend with Sire Henri?”

“To request that he escort your visitor to his
chamber.  But you forbade me, thus I must do so myself.”

“A convenient answer.  And you will not do so.”  He
marched over and prodded Henri’s shaking form with his foot.  “Escort Sir John
to his chamber.”

Becket spun and jammed the missive into John’s hand. 
“Guard this well.  Many would hope for such a secret.”

“Truly?”  Sir John unrolled the parchment.  “Which
part?  The one that says, ‘Instead of the rim of his ear, my lady, this time
trail a long, slow lick along his---‘“

“Not that one!”  Becket grabbed the note and shoved the
other scroll into his hands.

“Your
ear
?”  Rochelle burned him with a steamy
look that set his blood aboil.  “Your reading skills are almost as lacking as
your love-making.”

A semi-standing Henri collapsed onto the ground again,
writhing with rude humor.  Sir John shook his head as he offered Henri his
hand, pulled him to his feet and then they mounted their steeds.  “If that
advice has no effect, Henri, then all hope for him . . . “   The obvious end of
the comment became buried under the sound of hooves.

Becket had never made such a complete ass of himself. 
Summoning a non-existent dignity, he mentally scrambled for control by scowling
an accusatory glance at Rochelle.  “And what trickery do you intend with me?”

Her mouth twitched as if to hide a smile.  “To lure you
into the woods and seduce you.  I plan to start with the part about the long,
slow, lick, but since I am inexperienced, ‘twould most likely require practice
until I mastered the technique.  However, your titillating demonstration of the
pleasurable sensation of tongue against flesh has inspired me to give you my
best efforts.”

His traitorous manhood throbbed with anticipation of
her delicate pink tongue laving his . . .   Becket groaned.   “Then expect
disappointment, for you will not have the opportunity.  I will never again risk
being alone with you.”

She sighed as if disappointed.  “As you will, Sire.” 
She had the audacity to give him her back and saunter down the road toward a
copse of trees.

“And where do you think you go, my sly falcon?”

She didn’t respond, just continued that knee-weakening
walk of hers to the edge of the forest.

 He lunged after her.  “You think to force me to attend
you, but I will not.  And I will not be alone with you.  Do you hear me?”

“Quite loudly, Sire.”  She slid between the branches
onto an animal trail.

He plunged in after her.  “You plan an ambush?  Hah. 
‘Tis exactly what you intend.”  He drew his sword and scanned the woods.  “I
pray ‘tis Gaston.”

“I only plot an ambush of your stubbornness, knight.” 
Rochelle didn’t even beg him to follow. She pushed aside a branch, then moved
on, letting the branch slap him across the chest and didn’t even apologize. 

He ripped the offending whip from the tree and stormed
after that bewitching backside that seemed tethered to his manhood by an
invisible leash, dragging him onward.   

Sacre bleu,
he desired her.  And she
desired him.  How to use that desire to his own purpose?  How to persuade her
not to betray him in his absence---without telling her why he left, and where. 
How to satisfy his insatiable longing for the one woman he dare not have.  If
not for her tainted seed, he would…

The solution hit with such force that he nearly tripped
over a tree root --- an answer that she would recognize as a great concession
on his part and thus be duly grateful.  One that would satisfy the wild longing
of his heart.  No, not his heart.  How weak a slip.  He satisfied his body. 
His lust.  A brilliant solution.  Sometimes he amazed even himself.

 Concerned that the sun sank at too rapid a descent, he
followed Rochelle around a knoll, halted a moment as he watched her enter a
generous tent staked beside the stream, then tightened his grip on the hilt,
and shoved his way inside---a lavish inside, with food and wine, with stools
near a backgammon table.  With a mattress and snowy linens. 

Perfect.

But he must accomplish his purpose within moments, for
darkness swallowed the world as if ravenous. The anticipation of what he intended
drove him like a wild beast.

His steward awaited beside a table, a nervous smile on
his face.

Becket waved him to the door.  “Bare me of this armor
with alacrity, then depart.  I would be alone with Lady Rochelle.”

Becket removed his sword as the steward fumbled with
clasps and jupon, plate and mail. 

Rochelle appeared shocked as she stared at the hasty
disrobing.  “You wish to be alone with me?  But you said . . . “  She ceased as
if hesitant to remind him of his rash avowal.

The steward placed aside the last article, then
stumbled backward through the open flap in his eagerness to depart.

Rochelle blinked her wondrous eyes the blue of the
alpine gentian flowers.  “You are an enigma, Sire.  I thought to please you. 
He was here to serve you food and wine without fearing I poisoned you.”

Becket scoffed as he sat upon a stool and yanked off
his boots and hose.

“You have already poisoned me, my lady.  Drugged me. 
Driven me to the edge of sanity, and I fear, beyond.  You have destroyed my
wits, shattered my reasoning, waylaid my carefully devised plans, altered my
future.  You are in my blood and my brain, for my every thought concerns you. 
My body wants you even if my mind does not.  So rejoice.”  He stood before her,
bare for all but his braies.  “Your greatest desire is soon to be granted.”

“You’re leaving?”

Not the answer he expected.  “Well . . . actually I . .
. “   How dare she taunt him.  “That is not your greatest desire.  You hope to
possess me.  Or rather, for me to possess you.  Don’t deny the obvious.  Your
every scheme has been such.  And you hope to remain at DuBois on a more
permanent basis.  Am I not correct?”

 She merely gaped at him.  Soon, though, her expression
would shine with happiness.  He longed to see her smile because of his
generosity.  He longed to throw her upon the mattress and explore the warm
porcelain of her flesh. 

“You don’t need to respond, my lady.  I know ‘tis
true.  You claimed you wished to seduce me.  I am seduced.”  He spread wide his
hands in invitation.  “I am yours.”

Instead of joy, puzzlement blended to give her the most
charming of expressions---disbelief, tentative joy, then outright suspicion. 
“What trickery do
you
attempt?”

“Not trickery, my tamed falcon.  Genius.  The answer to
both our dilemmas.  Now come here.  I wish to taste your sweet mouth.”

She merely stood there, aghast.  Most likely her
virginal reticence. 

How charming.

How invigorating. 

He must seduce the seducer. 

With his most seductive smile he stepped toward her,
just as she rushed toward him with a shout of delight that sent thunder through
his veins.  He caught her in his arms.  Her breasts pressed against his chest. 
Her mouth surrendered to his, all sweet and slick, reminding him of future
bliss.  A deluge of desire surged in the torrent of his blood and swept away
all vestiges of control around his pent-up lust.  He welcomed the loss.

Becket urged the silken fabric off her shoulders, and
the filmy magic slithered to a billowy cloud at her feet, exposing her
alabaster magnificence. Unable to keep from touching her, he threaded his
fingers through her hair.  

“Your tresses are as pale as the thistledown that
floats on the breeze, and as soft.  Your eyes are like the blue gentians that
bloom in the mountains, and as enchanting.”  He stroked her shoulders, the
fullness of her breasts, and he shuddered from the incredible texture.  “Your
flesh is as the Pyrenees snow pink-tinged with dawn, but warm, more alluring.
Your passion is like the DuBois wine, apparently gentle at first, then bursting
with sweet surprises to leave me staggering and wanting more.” 

She moaned and leaned her curvaceous body against the
center post as if for support.

Hardly believing his good fortune, he rained kisses
down the column of her magnificent throat toward the silken cream of her
breasts.  “Fear not, my white gyrfalcon.  My body wants to thrust into you in
feral possession, but ‘tis your first time.  I will labor to make certain you
rise upon the heated currents of passion, then I will release your tether and
you will soar to ecstasy.”

“Then I will be your . . . “   She hesitated as if
loathe to break the spell.

“
Oc, ma petite.
  You will be my leman.”

She went as stiff as a marble tower, most likely struck
in awe by his cleverness.  “Leman?”

“See how ingenious?  You will have me.  Rather, we will
have each other.  And you will remain at DuBois.”

“Leman?”

“As to your tainted seed, I will merely use protection
so that . . . Protection.  Curse me to hell, but I don’t have protection!”